


Silver Crown

by ViseniiaTheYoung



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: A Happy Ending, Aegon VI Targaryen and Jon Snow are Siblings, Aegon and Rhaenys Targaryen Live, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drama & Romance, F/M, I love R + L btw, I think?, Jon Snow and Sansa Stark are Cousins, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, King Aegon VI Targaryen, Miscarriage, Queen Sansa Stark, Warg Sansa Stark, its just drama?, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-12 11:02:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29009487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ViseniiaTheYoung/pseuds/ViseniiaTheYoung
Summary: She has been told by her father that she will marry into the Royal Family someday, gain Seven Kingdoms and be it’s queen.But with the crown comes a price, one that must be paid with blood, at the great cost of love, or what’s left of a soul.
Relationships: Elia Martell/Rhaegar Targaryen (Past), Jon Snow/Rhaenys Targaryen (Daughter of Elia), Lyanna Stark/Rhaegar Targaryen (past), Sansa Stark/Aegon VI Targaryen
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	Silver Crown

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! So before you start I wanted to let you know that you might find Sansa’s personality or character a little too overwhelming or extra naïve. This only is, of course and for the only purpose of character development. We all know how she has grown to see the bigger picture in the books. (The age has something to do with it.) 
> 
> Thank you!

  
  


**The Little Bird.**

She has been told by her father that she will marry into the royal family someday. Sansa liked to brush her hair, while dreaming a life with sweet princes and bold knights. Since a young age, her lady mother instructed her in the path of the seven, the septa Mordane helped her to become from a seed on the ground, to a delicate and blooming flower.

At ten and three, when the eternal summer was coming to an end, they departed to the capital of the seven kingdoms, promises to the seven faces of the god for a bright future from her lady mother and septa. Sometime later, deep in their journey, lady Sansa found out about the truth of the forgotten rebellion. “I do not care. I am going to become Queen,” she firmly declared for everyone to hear when her sister Arya started jesting and mocking. Sansa did receive pitiful looks from her father and Prince Daeron, who has been a ward of Eddard Stark after his two and ten nameday. Sansa’s royal cousin apologized ten times during their voyage, the last of his apologies at the gates of the biggest city of Westeros.

The lady didn’t understand his sorrow, so she asked her mother when they were alone in the wheelhouse that carried them south. Catelyn’s Stark response haunted her songs of love and doom. As if she was waking from a fevered sleep.

“My sweet, the Prince _Rhaegar_ and Lady _Lyanna_ caused the rebellion that _killed_ your grandfather and... uncle,” Her mother’s face twisted at the thought of their deceased family members.

“What does that have to do with _him_ , mother?” Sansa tried to hold control on her honeyed tone.

The lady of Winterfell became suddenly serious.

“Sometimes... we make arrangements to heal the animosity between two kingdoms, my girl.”

“And what are those arrangements?”

“ _Marriage_. That’s the best way.” the mother sighed.

  
Lady Sansa is a pretty girl, inheriting everything from her mother. In her head grows the auburn-hair of the Tullys, the gods have blessed her with beauty and a fragile temperament. This are the compliments she received from the Royal Family. Today, everyone knows who she will wed, if there was doubt anyway. She is dressed in a modest but beautiful dress of blue wool with red flowers at the sides. Within the shining halls of the red keep, the prince Aegon kissed her pale knuckles, provoking a childish reaction from Sansa. She didn’t know who resemblance does he have with. After a time, the little lady decided that he shares coloring with Prince Viserys, and several face traits with his half-brother Daeron, but with a much tanner skin and soft beauty that left her heart pounding furiously. This is her dream, she decided then.

“This city smells like horse _shit_ ” her sister Arya complained. Robb laughed while Mordane gave the youngest daughter a terrified look. Sansa agreed with Arya - to her surprise - but made and oblivious eye to the situation because the next day, her betrothed pleased her with a plate full of her beloved lemon cakes.

“As sweet as you.” he said with a charming smile. _Oh, how handsome he is!_

She is invited to a meeting with the flowers of the Tyrells. Lady Margaery is as _golden_ as her nickname and her dresses of silk and rich jewelry are enough to gain her attention. This is all Sansa has dreamed. This is the promised court of nobles. She would make friends, and she will be their queen. But in time, the hearsay’s of this ladies about her home caused her to turn uncomfortable. _May it be that she has thorns after all._ Her mother warned her. Regardless, Sansa smiles and sent herself without supper that night for thinking such things of the kind and gentle Margaery Tyrell. _She only wants to help me settle. She is my friend._

* * *

“You are a sweet thing to look upon.” Princess Rhaenys says from her place in the hammered mirror. Sansa blushed, obtaining a short laugh from the young woman.

“I thank you, Your Grace.” She is helping the princess to get dressed, and, as the Queen grandmother has quoted, ‘ _to create bonds between the family.’_

“One would think you are _desperate_ to wed.” There’s also the sharp tongue of Princess Rhaenys.

“Of course not, Your Grace.” she hurriedly says.

“But?”

“But I have been told that it is time for me to be a wife.” Sansa dutifully replies. It is a genuine curiosity that impulses her to ask, albeit after all, the princess is more beautiful than Queen Elia, and she is not promised to anyone yet. “Why haven’t you wed, Princess?” Rhaenys Targaryen is tall, taller than Sansa herself, and willowy. Her skin is dark, kissed by the sun itself, and her hair falls in waves of jet-black, like prince Daeron. Her eyes though, are more purple than black, if only by a shade.

Her cousin’s older sister is not fond of songs, is not inclined for music, doesn’t like to embroider and is not very active in court. Sansa asked prince Daeron about this, with a shyness proper of a maid, but he only smiled wistfully. He instructed her to observe the princess closely, and only then, will Sansa know why Rhaenys chose to play cold. But she has been in her company every day for almost three moons, and she is nothing like Margaery or Princess Daenerys.   
  


“I will _not_ wed.” She says. Sansa frowns, eyes going wide. “Sometimes, lady Sansa, when we make plans, the gods laugh.”

“But the gods are merciful!”

“If they are, then why is my father dead?” It is her calmness that scares her. “And if they are, then why I have turned my back to the opportunity of being happy just for a _crown_?” Princess Rhaenys laughs, voice hoarse due to the effects of the spicy wine. “It will always be a crown. You don’t seek for one, do you?”

Sansa is shaking like a little girl. For a moment, she remembered she is a child of ten and three, recently flowered. All maidens lie, she has heard. Sansa can’t. It is her honorable and sweet nature that drives her to speak. A fool she may be.

“I have wanted to be Queen, Your Grace. But most importantly, I want to be happy.” There’s a silence. Out of the balcony, and down too, life continues as it always has been, yet the silence perdures.

_A crown and happiness. It’s all I ask._

“Ah, my sister, there is no happiness in here, just something close to it.”

It happened a day before her betrothed coronation - as he has come to age - that everything changed for Sansa. Her most loyal companion and trusted friend, Jeyne Poole, the steward’s daughter; was helping Sansa to choose which dress she will use. Her mother had gifted her many beautiful dresses, but princess Daenerys presented her wedding gift early. She almost weeps when the silk traced her fingers, the softest thing she has touched, _almost as heartwarming as water_. 

“ _Little_ Queen you will be.” Jeyne said.

_A crown you shall have_ , there’s a voice in her sweet dreams. Sansa shudders, tossing in her sleep. _But remember: silver will be his hair, silver will be his death._

In the morning, she took a cold. But, as educate as she is, and as radiant too, Sansa appeared at court, leaving a smell of youth and merriment. “A perfect wife she will be,” Lady Lynesse Hightower whispered to her companions, all of them serving as seniors ladies-in-waiting for the Queens. “Not for her wits, but for her devoted way of submission.” Sansa didn’t know what to think, and again, she felt silly as the blood rushed to her face, causing soft laughs of tenderness from the elder.   
  


She has not spoken to _his_ grace, but he sends her a flower every day. They are red, white, pink and orange. Sansa’s watery blue eyes ignites with satisfaction every morning, obtaining frustrated expressions from Arya. It is later, when she is in the Sept of Baelor, among the royal family, sitting as a guest and an unofficial member, nervously playing with her fingers; that Sansa noticed how Queen Elia’s face goes from neutrality to ash when she looks upon her. Thus, the Stark studied her body too. She is tall, and her body is starting to take a womanly path, but she isn’t close to be an exotic beauty like the princesses and definitely, not as interesting as Elia Martell’s niece or Cersei Lannister’s daughter. Even Margaery carried with her an entire group that can be defined as a small court. But at the end, it is Sansa that will marry the future king. And she will birth him strong sons and heirs and beautiful girls. She knows she must.

King Aegon’s crown is made of iron, and symmetrically polished pieces of red and black jewelry. There are gasps across the crowd and Sansa’s own judgment tells her that the red _rubies_ might be a tribute to his deceased father.

“It was originally a replica of Aegon the Conqueror’s crown. My brother then decided to add his own style on it.” Prince Daeron explained, erasing her confusion. Sansa then understood that if his intentions were otherwise, then the northern lords probably would have been offended. They all know that the loyalty they have towards the crown is only and for Daeron Targaryen, his dark looks of Stark favoring him. A son of the north in the viper’s nest.

This is why she's here.

_To steady their alliances._

It is that day, the Blackwater shining silver, as everything else around them, that her prince became a king. The eighteenth Targaryen King, for his father died before he could sit himself on the Iron Throne. Small mercies or small curses?  
  


* * *

Sansa is overwhelmed. In a matter of days, she will be wedded and bedded. The Queen Rhaella is kind but also strict. She has been standing in her room in the Maidenvault, for hours, as they were using her as a knitting pillow. While Rhaella is supervising her wedding dress and also, her coronation gown too; Elia Martell is sitting on the desk, Princess Rhaenys at her side while Princess Daenerys is looking from the window to the pale landscape.

Sansa is pale, reddish hair falling to her waist, and still, she stays stiff, supine, like a proper lady. “You ought to respect him, as your husband and King... but you shall rule as his side with a firm hand.” Elia explained, dark eyebrows lifted at her. Sansa is nervous again. Anxious will be correct.

“I understand, Your Grace.”

There is awkwardness in the Princess Rhaenys face at her mother next words, clever eyes tracing Daenerys.

“Then, you shall understand how important it is to provide an heir.” This she knows. Sansa heard her mother’s stories about her own wedding. Without the heir, and only two males Stark left, it was a priority to restore and secure the line of the Starks. _An heir, a spare. As **many** babes you can birth,_ Sansa thought.

She nodded dutifully at the now Queen Mother.

“My mother told me all about it. You need to say nothing.” Sansa says with endearing dignity

Princess Daenerys turned, purple eyes aflame, while holding one of the three rocks she called to be dragon eggs. Sansa inspected her in pure awe.

“And that is a woman’s worth.” the silver princess coldly whispered.

“It is duty, my child.” Rhaella said, removing a golden-colored hair net from the jewelry Sansa will use. The Queen adorned her with necklaces and rings and bracelets on her elbows.

“It is, but we are more than _broodmares_.”

There is a heavy silence, and Sansa is afraid that a fight may happen between the royal women. Daenerys has a challenging look on her beautiful face, the small bells on her hair igniting as the sun set on her. Orange and red and pink lights pouring her body while nestling the black rock of diamonds reflexes, between the sleeves of her crimson dress. It scares Sansa. Daenerys hides ambition and certainly doesn’t lack determination. A peek to the king’s aunt, and one knows she’s complicated. In the end, the room stays in a dull silence.

Her wedding is out of the tales. Many lords and ladies from the realm have come to the capital. From the north to the sterile lands of Dorne, across the narrow sea and then back to the shores of Driftmark. Sansa hopes that a song about her wedding will be written. Her dress is pink and grey, as soft as her soul. Her hair is down, small braids decorating the simple northern style. Not in the typical southern fashion. _It is her smile that made her father weep and her brothers laugh. It is lady Sansa smile that removed the **brooding** aura from the King’s violet eyes,_ a bard narrated to the common folk as the bells of the Sept of Baelor rang for a second time within the same year.

Sansa spotted red petals blowing in the air. Everything looks like beaten gold and silver. She doesn’t even care about the strong heat, nor the sweating faces of the northern lords, nor the souring Prince Viserys. Around her, the gold and silver pay for it all. They are married as the sun warms them, his silky silver and gold hair shining like House Martell’s spears. “A surpassing beauty. You will be more beautiful than me, than your ancestors, my girl,” Her mother briefly whispered as her father guided her through the sept. The young future Queen walked, amidst the power-hungry gazes of lords and ladies alike, _amidst vipers._  
  


Until she sees him.

He is strong, with broad shoulders and wide chest. Aegon is _very_ tall; the spit image of how a Valyrian king would look. Instead of wearing his house colors, or at least wearing a regalia of black, King Aegon decided to wear white, orange and red clothes that reminded Sansa of summer: warm and fierce. His face, however, looks older than sixteen namedays, as if he had experienced a tragical event. It brought hot tears to her eyes that she gracefully managed to control. This is her dream, and she hopes this is his dream too.

“One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever.” It did mean something to Sansa, as the High Septon declared loudly. For a girl of ten and three, with only music and stories in her mind, the beginning of what would be a perfect love story, was instead the beginning of a game for pride and glory and gore. . . 

* * *

The first time she discovered that not all men are a _reincarnation_ of the tales she was so fond of, Sansa found herself rolling her eyes at him, during their bedding night, when he preferred to spend their time telling her the most popular jokes of the small folk. Out of nervousness, Sansa doesn't know, for her body is shaking like a leaf in a powerful storm, but he made her laugh, which is disturbing for her. Her lady mother and the Queen Dowager instructed her in these things for almost a moon, and _dutifully_ , Sansa was waiting patiently for him, a wave of emotions stroking her. Pale like the moon itself.

“Why are you afraid?” He had asked then, when the ring in her laughs died.

“I’m not, my King!” Sansa was laboring for breath, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

“I know you are,” He gently took her in his arms, her heart pounding almost painfully. The shyness of a maid. “You don’t have to, for I won’t hurt you, my lady.” The silver stars and his silver words conducted her to an idyllic reality, as his oath pounded stronger than the flames in the fireplace. _He won’t hurt me._

There’s a feast for her coronation. The feast where all her misfortunes started, as Lyon Baratheon, lord Stannis Baratheon’s heir; publicly declared his love for the new Queen. The gasps and gossips soon became screams of surprise and mostly terror as the heir of the Stormlands _chocked_ with Albor Gold, the sweet drink cutting off his airways, the desperation forcing his heart to stop working. _A poison so sweet as the Queen’s heart_. That was the absurd death of Sansa’s first suitor, spreading a black humor till the end of the year, soon after the Stormlanders chose Shireen Baratheon as the heir of their lands.

Sansa’s heart sank as her family returned to the north, leaving her alone in between bitterly lords. With the new political system Aegon and his brother Daeron with the help of Rhaenys, have established, now the roles of the women of the royal family were more important than to be an example of how a perfect lady should behave. Daenerys anger was appeased, peacefully accepting to wed Viserys Targaryen. Sansa however, was trying to hide her disappointment with the new law.

“Do you prefer to be a Queen, or a Queen with wits?” Rhaenys slapped her as she found her crying in the gardens, the flowers as the only witnesses. “You can’t be a little girl anymore, Sansa. If you are weak, then you probably will be buried by the end of the year.” Sansa reluctantly accepted the princess words.

_She hurts me, this can be treason. But, is she wrong tho?_

A tourney is held for Princess Daenerys _wedding_. That tourney in particular helped to dethrone Sansa’s dreams and replaced them with the cruel reality they live, the reality the gods have offered them without leaving them a choice. It’s not proper for a future lord, even for a noble man, to seek the company of a married woman, and even worst for that woman to be the Queen. Willas Tyrell is pursuing her, desperately trying to arrange private meetings with Sansa. The young Queen then, decided to quickly choose her personal ladies-in-waiting, Roslin Frey being the one to help her dress while Margaery Tyrell reads and sometimes sings. Of course, Sansa’s dear friend, Jeyne Poole, is the one who is in charge of her finances and savings. At last, it is Myrcella who tastes her food before it reaches her. During nights, her husband shares her bed as she listens to his complains about not being able to enter the jousting.

“I have meetings scheduled every hour with Lords Paramounts and Magisters.” He tiredly smiles with that melancholic violet eyes of his.

“I’m sorry, love.”

It’s all the comfort she can share. If the word holds any weight, for all he has been the perfect gentleman, the ever charming ‘Valyrian king...’ and Sansa’s heart hammers in her chest, the way the horses gallop at the speed of the wind. 

  
  


The celebration could have been known as the ‘ _Tourney of the maids’_ , have not been for the unfortunate event that occurred during the last day. It is the princess Daenerys who finds her dismissing the entourage of loyal maids and the desperate heir, as she rests in a sea of cushions. “I wonder...” Dany took a grape from the bowl atop the table. “Why is lord Willas always with you, _my Queen_ ” Sansa blushed, anger arising in her loins. This kind of rumors were the ones she was trying to avoid. Sansa is too honorable to even try and commit adultery, and even then... she loves her beautiful and gentle King. And...

“I do not know what you are _implying._ ”

“Do you, your Mayesty?” After all, Dany is a royal princess while Sansa is the Queen. She is her superior.“Alas, it’s not my place, is it?” Cunning to the bone and twice as clever. Sansa almost feels stupid. This _beauty_ surpasses her in almost every aspect, how could she not feel that way? **_Useless_**.   
  


“I love my husband.” Sansa clarified sweetly. There’s a silence and a false smile.

“Can I speak freely?” Dany asks. Sansa knows she might not like what will come from her rosy lips of poison, but out of curiosity, or mingled fear, she nodded.

“You may.”

“You don’t love him. You claim you do. But you don’t.” Sansa wants to scream that she does, but she is as quiet as the crypts of Winterfell, for she is suddenly feeling dizzy and strangely sick, as if been hit by a Dothraki horde. _Whatever does than mean?._ “You love what he can _offer_ _you_. The benefits of being _his_ Queen. Tell me, do you feel it deep down? Did he tell you that he **_loves_ _you_ _?_** Did you say it? You didn’t, he didn’t. Sweet Sansa, love comes at the eyes.” Dany wiped her tears away, ambitious eyes almost smiling.

“Have you ever been in _love_ then?” Sansa’s pale face is as hard as a stone, but her eyes are as wet as the sea, and even if her voice is coolly, it’s coating her throat. “Daenerys...” 

“Of course I’ve been. I’m still am.”

The little Queen didn’t find anything in the princess’ empty eyes. They were so full of solitude that she weeps again. And weep she did as blood descended from her thighs, pooling down her knees. She collapsed to the cold floor of the royal box as everyone cheered for the victor. _A tragedy,_ they said, as all the smiles died that day, _but she might have done something wrong in the name of the gods.  
  
_

  
  


Later, the maester confirmed with pity that she had suffered a miscarriage caused by high levels of stress. _It is my fault_ , Sansa raged as her husband holds her, squeezing her broken mind and soul. _My child is dead_ **,** the Queen screamed out loud. “As if the child had already popped out. It was naught but blood.” the unfortunate squire had his tongue cut off by the orders of the King. _Don’t play with the dragon unless you want it to be the death of you._

**Author's Note:**

> So, it was originally a one-shot cause I’m not the perfect writer to do long stories but I’m surprised that I advanced it so far (It’s already been written for the most part) I always loved the concept of Aegon VI (the real) and Sansa. As many of you know, an asoiaf rare pairing but here we are! I hope you enjoyed the first chapter. Hope to update as soon as possible?


End file.
